


If I Needed You

by Beezleebub



Category: Deadwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Depression, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Marriage of Convenience
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:28:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26503672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beezleebub/pseuds/Beezleebub
Summary: Seth falling in love with the family he was given and learning to be happy
Relationships: Martha Bullock/Seth Bullock, mentioned Seth Bullock/Alma Garret
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	If I Needed You

**I.**

For all that business in Deadwood was profitable and well, Seth did not find the hardware store captivating in any particular capacity. Sol was by and large the better businessman between the two of them. The relocating and setting up shop in this Black Hills camp was a mutual agreement - a decision come upon by the both of them after perhaps too little deliberation. 

The coming to the decision together gave reason towards Seth not feeling as guilty as he maybe should for being such a horrible business partner. Sol was wounded while having Seth’s back, and for that he did feel responsible. It was not, however, what kept him a stranger to sleep. 

The house he built was sound. The lumber was heavy and the furnishings, most of which were selected by Mrs. Bullock, were inviting. He only wished he did not feel so horribly displaced being inside the home. Martha and the boy had turned in several long hours ago. It was very late, late enough it would be more accurate to refer to it as early. The sun had yet to contemplate its own rise, but there was light. All the same, the kerosene lamp on the hook remained lit. It cast strange oblong shadows across the porch around his boots.

The events that had transpired over the last several days weighed heavily on Seth’s spirit and body. His horrid, skull-splitting headache persistently remained and amorphous shaped bruises acted as signal fires for various pains. He was decidedly due for a drink, but it would not be seemly to be inebriated when the boy and wife woke. Even more indecent to be in such a state at such an hour.

With inattentive focus, Seth watched the flow of the stream; listened to it babble with preoccupied thoughts. On occasion, the fat rainbow trout would leap out of the water with a splash. In the quiet of the early hours, not even the panhandlers or miners had risen yet. It was all very peaceful and the land surrounding this place was beautiful. This moment, this stillness, was more than Seth felt he was deserving of. 

He wished he were at the hardware store, with Sol, where surely he would be poor company. His sour mood would, at the very least, be met without surprise. 

His thoughts were of Martha - whom he had only just begun to know on such terms. He wanted to know her; hoped she would allow him the honor. He knew the sight of him reminded her of Robert and how it must pain her. She was a good woman though, someone his brother had thought so highly of. He wanted for her to be happy here.

It was nearly sun-up when Seth forced the cogs in his mind to stop turning and stood on legs that had begun to fall asleep. He took up the lamp from it’s hook and went inside. Upstairs in the bedroom, Seth shut the door as softly as he could, all the same Martha stirred either from the sound or movement. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to wake you.”

“No. That’s alright,” she said. Unpinned, her hair was quite long and fell around her shoulders in waves. Seth thought it suited her well that way. She looked out the window that overlooked their stream and, further out, a street that would be bustling in a few hours. Dawn was just beginning to break over the hills. “Is it very early?”

“Not terribly.”

She nodded. “I’ll start on breakfast.” She noticed Seth’s state of half-dress and the neatness of his side of the bed. “Did you come to bed last night?”

He began to unbutton his waistcoat. “No.”

Martha did not appear upset but bothered. “I’ll put on the coffee then as well.” She rose and smoothed her skirts and hair, fetching the dressing gown she oft kept slung over her vanity seat. “Will you be taking William fishing today, as you suggested?”

“If he doesn’t have his lessons today,” he said carefully. He was surprised that she put any water into the suggestion he made yesterday. “I would be grateful for the time with the boy.” His eagerness was not false and he wondered on it’s candidness.

“He can catch up on his lessons another day.” Martha’s smile was small but genuine; grateful that Seth had made the suggestion.

It lightened Seth’s spirits despite his sleepless night and the aches he carried. 

“It will be good for him. Getting to know the man whom he’s to know as a father.” There was all chill in the air and she pulled her dressing gown closer around herself, tucking her hands under her arms.

Seth did not know what to say in reply and so he only nodded. He continued to dress in fresh clothes as Martha moved behind the curtain to do the same. Together, they went downstairs and, after kindling a fire, Seth volunteered to make the coffee as Martha began on a breakfast hash.

“Thank you, Seth,” she said kindly. She offered him a smile that he did not know what to do with, so he nodded and kept his attention on the kettle.

“Good morning, Mr. Bullock.”

Seth placed two tin mugs of coffee before he and Martha’s places at the table. “Goodmorning, William. Did you sleep well?”

William nodded, taking a seat at the table. He did not appear hampered by the early hour, but rather well rested. “Yes. Did you?” he asked. “Sleep well?”

“Yes.” He sat to drink his coffee. “I thought, with your mother’s permission, you and I might try our hand at catching that rainbow trout.”

The excitement that illuminated William’s face was well worth the effort Seth was attempting to put forth. This was his family. This was who he had.

“You don’t have to work today?” William asked. “At the hardware store with Mr. Star or seeing to the town?”

Seth shook his head. “Not today.”

“Is that alright, Mama?” he asked, hopeful. “If I do my schoolwork tomorrow?”

“Yes. Mr. Bullock had kindly offered you his time. I won’t have you refusing.”

William’s eyes shone with excitement. “Alright.”

After breakfast, William helped his mother clean up and Seth cleaned his boots. Once all were finished with their morning chores, Seth took William to the hardware store to fetch fishing poles and purchase some lures in town.

“Goodmorning, Mr. Star!” William called, bounding ahead of Seth as he locked the door behind them. The shop did not open for another hour. 

“Goodmorning, William,” Sol greeted. “Seth.”

“Sol.” He hung his hat on a post and gestured to Sol’s arm that remained in it’s sling. “Your arm?”

“Still manageable.” Sol’s annoyance with Seth’s persistent checking in with his health was not an obvious thing, but Seth could see it and took it goodnaturedly.

“Just came to take fishing poles for the boy and I.” They had ordered a small shipment of fishing and hunting supplies but it was by no means a staple in their shop. A few poles taken for personal use would not go missed.

“Taking a furlough?” Sol asked with a raised brow; amused.

“I trust you can look after the shop today.”

“I’ll get by,” Sol said. “I was thinking of having Trixie come in. To run the till,” he explained to alleviate the confusion on Seth’s face. With some embarrassment, he said, “I’ve been teaching her accounting. A bit.”

“Alright.”

“It is?”

“If you think it’s a good idea, then I agree.”

His partner’s joy was poorly concealed but Seth didn’t think he was making much effort. He nodded. “Alright.”

Seth caught up to William by the poles and picked him one that was well suited to his size. They purchased some lures and bait at a ship not very far and walked back to their stream.

“You enjoy fishing?” Seth asked of William.

William nodded fervently. “Very much. There was a river when we were staying with Mama’s family that was filled with catfish.”

“And you provided supper with these catfish?”

“Sometimes.”

The two of them baited their lines and walked along the stream to where it widened and flowed less rocky. “If we catch this trout today,” he said, “would you help me to gut and clean it so that your mother could serve it tonight?”

William nodded. He resembled his late father so closely, Seth could almost forget himself and think himself a boy again. With excitement, he said, “I’d like that.”

“Then we better prove mighty anglers.” He forced a smile and William smiled back. It set a warmth blossoming inside of Seth.

They fished for some time, the two of them together along the bank of their small river, before William caught a decently large rainbow trout. It wasn’t the fabled slothful trout that they had both spotted from the house, but it would certainly feed the three of them well. William’s excitement with his catch was infectious. Seth’s own smile did not feel, for once, so forced. It was a growing thing, tugging the edges of his mustache and crinkling the corners of his eyes. 

William laughed as the trout’s spirited fighting caused him to get splashed. With as much expertise as a child so young could manage, Seth held the fish as William eased the hook from the thing’s mouth and they deposited their supper into the bucket Seth had brought. 

“Not our intended victim but I think he will suit our purpose,” Seth said. “What do you think?”

“Bet he’ll taste real good. I grew some onions,” he said. “We could use those for seasoning.”

“Good idea, William.”

The boy practically glowed under the praise, looking like he had grown a foot in height before Seth’s eyes. He was glad for it, as William was a smart and enjoyable boy due to his mother’s rearing.

“Should we catch another?”

William nodded.

Taking up their poles, they returned to their stream. They caught two more trout, a decently large one on William’s part and a smaller, less impressive, fish for Seth’s efforts.

“Do we have to be done?” William asked. His tone conveyed no desire to return home.

“You aren’t hungry?” Seth asked. It was nearly mid-day, judging by the placement of the sun above them that warmed their shoulders.

William shook his head. “No. Could…” Seth waited as the boy formulated his thoughts. “Could we go back to the hardware store?”

“For what purpose?” Seth asked.

Uncharacteristic to what he had displayed so far that morning, William grew withdrawn and seemed almost embarrassed. “Mama’s only let me play around the house and by the steam,” he said. “She doesn’t like me going into town on my own or going up the hill.”

It was a reasonable request, his mother’s. There were plenty of bears and wolves outside camp and the same could be said for inside camp. Seth could sympathize with the boy’s plight all the same. Boredom was a cruel companion for a child.

And so Seth nodded. “Alright.”

The boy brightened considerably.

Slinging their poles over his shoulder and taking up their bucket of fish, Seth said: “How about we put these fish on ice and we drop off these poles, then you and I go to the market to purchase fresh vegetables for supper?” While William’s garden he had taken up behind the house was expansive, it was still young and not much was grown and ripe for eating.

William seemed to be very amenable to that suggestion.

The two of them dropped their bounty and supplies off at home and then took the familiar trek back towards the heart of town.

“Is it very dangerous?” William broke the silence of their stroll.

“Is what?”

“Being sheriff?”

The question gave Seth reason for pause. He wasn’t sure of his answer. Truthfully, most professions in a place such as this came with considerable risk. For Seth, most physical harm he had sustained came to him with his badge removed. He supposed the job itself was not what brought Seth harm, but rather Seth himself attracted it. It was all more than he was willing to explain to a child.

“It has risks,” he settled on. “Regarding the confrontation you witnessed, I’ve already explained, that was personal.”

“Who was that man?”

It was a peculiar question with an uncertain answer. “No one.” 

They approached the alley that housed the camp’s market. He allowed the boy to pick what vegetables he thought would serve well with their day’s catch. Seth spent the time handing their vendor’s their payment over William’s head as the boy enthusiastically carried an arm full of vegetables, potatoes, and apples.

A merchant was selling rungs of fabric and Seth thought to purchase a couple yards for Martha. They passed the hardware store and Seth’s feet refused to move as Alma Garret stepped out of their shop. The two of them made eye contact across the thoroughfare before Mrs. Garret turned away, stomping through the muck and dragging her skirts through the filth without care. She left Seth standing there like a fool with a dry mouth and a roll of fabrics tucked under his arm. 

He decidedly did not think about her the rest of their hike home.

At their home, Seth presented the fabrics to Mrs. Bullock like a cat presenting it’s kill from a successful hunt between its teeth. William excitedly unloaded the produce onto the table. 

“Is the print acceptable?” Seth asked as Martha examined the cotton. She felt the fabric between her thumb and forefinger. “And the weight?”

“I think it will look very handsome,” she said, meeting his eyes. “And keep you plenty warm.”

Seth shook his head. “That’s not what I intended…”

“No.” She shook her head.

“I wasn’t trying to imply that-”

“No, Mr. Bullock. Of course not.” She accepted the bundle from him with gratitude. “All the same. Thank you.”

He tucked his chin to his chest. “William and I purchased some produce to go with the trout we caught.”

“I see that.” She smiled winningly at her son and brushed the hair from his forehead. She brightened so considerably when she looked at William. 

Seth was sorry that he could not rouse smiles from her more often. He was sorry that he could not be cause for the smiles that Robert, the brother he hardly knew, was surely once cause for with such ease. 

“Thank you both,” Martha said, “for providing supper.”

“Can we make applesauce?” William asked. “After we eat?”

“I think that sounds delightful, Will.”

The boy beamed at his mother.

“Why don’t you wash up and help me gut these fish so that your mother can get started,” Seth suggested. 

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

**II.**

The camp needed someone to teach the children, what little of them there were in camp. Martha intended to take the task upon herself. Such a decision led to her calling upon Mrs. Garret. Seth did not know what transpired between the women, what turns their discussion took, but it had put Mrs. Bullock in a peculiar frame of mind. He would hesitate to say it soured her mood but it was a near enough thing. He harbored his own suspicions of why that may be.

Suspicions that Seth was initially basing off of their interaction over lunch where Mrs. Bullock grew emotional over Mrs. Garret’s plight. Then, her parting demand before bed that he do not continue to make further personal sacrifices on her account. Her _rejection_ of his doing so. Her declaration that his ignoring his own happiness in favor of protecting both women’s honor and status in camp would be _poisonous._

The accusation dried his mouth. It angered him and he felt the hot pinprick sensation of tears behind his eyes. He blinked hard and tried to suppress the urge. He pushed his hands through his hair and took up his hat. He decided it would be best to leave before he could make a further ass of himself, taking considerable effort not to slam the door in his sudden burning need to be away from that place. The boy was sleeping, he did not wish to wake him. 

Outside, Seth walked without destination nor task in mind.

The cool evening air was bracing as it filled his lungs. It made his eyes sting only all the more. He swiped at them, knowing they would soon be red rimmed despite not a tear shedding. His father had hoped he would grow out of it, this feminine habit of growing so physically distressed. Had tried beating it out of him when it didn’t seem he would. Seth was sorry he had failed. It was ill-begotten of a lawman.

The problem that presented itself to Seth, as he saw it, was how much he found himself preoccupied by thoughts and concerns of Mrs. Bullock. He cared on a level beyond what was present initially, when they had not known eachother much at all. His feelings towards Martha had expanded beyond what he thought himself capable. Mrs. Bullock’s happiness greatly concerned Seth. He wanted to give her a good life here in camp.

Newly, he thought he might want her to be happy here with _him_.

What complicated the matter were his very real feelings that remained for Alma Garret. It had all become a tangled mess in Seth’s head - a confusion that threatened to see him running out of camp entirely were he a less stubborn man. If stubborn should be the most applicable word for it.

Seth simply could not stop himself from making a fucking shitheal of himself. 

Dan Dority did not bother to conceal his surprise as Seth ordered a drink. He swallowed it in one toss and ordered a second. Under Dority’s look of surprised confusion, he then ordered a third. Rather than swallow it then, he found a place to sit tucked away in an empty corner, letting the glass sweat into the splintered wood grain. The Gem was as busy as any late evening; loud too. The piano was a good distraction for some and proved more stimulating than the various whores that flounced by him half exposed.

Anyone who spotted him steered clear of him. Not even a whore approached to offer her service. It was as if there was an invisible radius around his table to keep people away. He didn’t mind it. He ordered another whiskey.

He did not know how long he sat there, intoxicated, before an unfortunately familiar voice shouted: “Sheriff!”

Tired, and with enough whiskey in his bloodstream to cause his vision to go a little off-set, Seth called back: “Swearengen.” He watched the brothel owner take the seat across from him.

“Jesus Christ, Bullock, you really are shitfaced.” He spoke as though he had not believed that Seth would be. Seth wondered who told him he was. “What the fuck’s drove you to drink? In _my_ establishment of all fucking places.”

Seth blinked owlishly at Swearengen, as if realizing for the first time who was before him and what establishment’s walls boxed him in. He grunted. “Fuck off.”

Swearengen seemed amused. “You want to take a different tone with me, Bullock? Dan bring over a bottle!” A bottle of Kentucky bourbon appeared between them along with two glasses. Swearengen filled the shot glasses, pushing one towards Seth.

“What do you want?”

“What’s eating you?”

“What do you want?” he reiterated. The muscles in his jaw jumped.

Swearengen spread his arms. “It’s not often we get to chat, you and me. Casually, I mean.” He spoke as though the two of them were old friends. “Also, it’s a bad look for the business, having the fucking sheriff hanging around my den of inequity. Makes people nervous; reserved.”

Despite himself, and perhaps as a testament to his inebriation, Seth smiled. It made Swearengen smile back. He hardly thought anyone here was practicing reservation of any degree.

“Lucky me, catching you in such a rare state.” Out of what appeared to be pure curiosity, Swearengen, after draining his glass, asked, “What cocksucker’s driven you to drink, my dear compatriot?” He refilled his glass as Seth drained his own. They continued that way for several minutes, draining and refilling their glasses without conversation.

“The accusation that you imputed upon me in the thoroughfare,” Seth said softly, breaking his reticence. If it was not for the slight twitching of his mustache, Swearengen would hardly have thought he spoke at all.

“My observation,” he corrected with a raised glass. 

Seth inclined his head and did not argue. “Yes. The one which preempted our… exchange.”

“The one which superseded your throwing me over the fucking balcony, you mean?”

Again, Seth dipped his chin.

“You’re telling me some pussy, free pussy, is what’s shattered you legendary supercilious fucking attitude?”

“I don’t know what supercilious means.”

Swearengen laughed, sharp and quick, earning their table numerous looks. Seth saw Dority watching them from the bar. “It means you’re an arrogant cunt.”

Seth frowned. Drunkenly, he muttered, “M’sorry.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He rubbed a hand over his face. He looked healthier than he had a short while ago. Seth wasn’t as lucky, sporting numerous new scars.

Seth drank as Swearengen refilled his glass. “It’s… Mrs. Bullock is displeased with me. I thought I ought to…” He glanced around the raucously boisterous saloon. The piano keys made his head pound. “To give her some space.”

“You caused yourself marital troubles, Bullock. How very domestic of you.”

Seth snatched the bottle and pressed it directly to his lips. He drank till his head dipped back far enough to knock against the back of his chair. Forcibly setting the bottle down, he wiped amber liquor from his chin. His dark eyes swept the saloon, the whites of his eyes visible, like he still was uncertain what brought him there. He reminded Swearengen of a young stallion, one some might mistake for as broken but Al knew he was plenty liable to kick. “I’m afraid I don’t make my wife very happy.”

“You don’t fuck her good?”

Seth seemed appalled by the question. His eyes, even in his drunkenness, became hard.

“If the problem is needing a good lay, you came to the right place to get your dick inside something without complaint from the receiver.”

Seth’s nostrils flared.

Swearengen backed off, knowing very well first hand that Bullock’s anger existed on a short fuse. “So you don’t need to fuck something. How’s that work then? You fucking the widow Garret with your wife in the camp?”

“None of your fucking business,” Seth slurred. “You know, I- I am floundering for a laudable reason for conversing with you at all.”

His drunken frustration was tickling Swearengen fucking pink. “Beats me. You’re the bastard that came into my joint.”

“Don’t know why. Plenty of other fucking places to be.” Perhaps Seth was seaking somewhere familiar, somewhere where he was bound to not be the drunkest bastard in a two yard radius. He wanted to go to the hardware store, with Sol, but was afraid that Trixie would be there - that he would be interrupting something. He regretted his decision now. Seth fumbled in his coat pocket for coins with drink clumsy fingers and placed several on the table, trusting they were enough to cover for the whiskey. “I- I should go.” He grabbed the whiskey bottle as he rose. “M’taking this with me!” He stumbled out of the Gem and into the chilled night air, his legs feeling too long.

Bullock and Star Hardware was not a terribly long walk from the Gem, but more or less a straight shoot down Deadwood’s thoroughfare. In his inebriation, however, it may as well have been an afternoon’s trek. Seth’s legs were uncoordinated and his he felt as though there were bricks tied about his ankles as he stumbled against the shop’s large glass doors causing them to rattle. It took him numerous attempts to insert the key into the lock, but he managed, shouldering the door open. Inside, he tripped over his feet and dropped his keys. He frowned at them and felt supremely unbalanced as he picked them up. His every movement sounded nearly deafening to his own ears in the shop’s quiet. 

“Seth?”

A kerosene lamp was lit and within the radius of light it casted, Seth could make out a Sol’s frown. He was an expressive man, though he’d deny it.

“Did I wake you?”

Sol pushed a hand across his face and through his hair, stifling a yawn. He shook his head. “No. No I’d only just turned in.”

Seth nodded, tossing his hat aside, and took a large drink from the bottle he kept a vice like grip on the neck of. He blinked hard against the light and released a sigh that felt as though it rattled its way through his chest. He felt wrecked. 

“Is everything alright? What’s happened?”

Seth shook his head. “No, I’m- everything’s alright. Nothing has happened.”

He had wanted, desperately, to be alone in Sol’s company and now that his desire had been seen through, Seth could not manage a single word. With legs he did not have full faith in, he stumbled towards the steps to the shop’s upper level. He sat heavily on the step, unspeakably exhausted and far too drunk. Humiliated, sad, and insurmountably angry with himself, Seth released a heavy breath and failed to suppress a sob.

“Fuck,” he heard Sol curse. 

Setting the bottle down, Seth pushed his hands across his face, swiping uselessly at the tears. “Shit.” He watched Sol come to sit before him, his ass on the ground. “I have been contemplating leaving,” he said. He spoke in hardly more than a whisper. 

“Leaving where?”

“The camp.” He took a steadying breath, then said in a bitter sort of tone, “I asked Mrs. Garret if it would be easier for her if I were to leave. She declined to make decisions on my behalf.” He choked on a sob, shaking his head. “I believed I loved her, Sol," he admitted.

“She made you happy,” Sol said.

“I could hardly say if she did or not,” he said. There were times, of course, where he thought he may be happy - stolen moments alone with her where they had been intimate. It was all so confusing now. Truthfully, he could not say whether he had ever been happy a day in his life. “I believe I may have confused infatuation with something stronger. I’m uncertain whether I ever knew Mrs. Garret that well at all.” He swiped at tears as they continued to fall. He looked at Sol. “I wanted to know her. I wanted to know her as I wish I had wanted to know Mrs. Bullock before her.”

“Mrs. Bullock now taking priority.”

“Shouldn’t she? I made her a promise when we wed. I owe it to her to make her happy,” he said. “I cannot… I cannot prioritize my own _infatuations._ To do so would be selfish, Sol. I…” His nostrils flared and he ground his teeth through a hard exhale. His hands clenched into tight fists on his knees, crumpling the fabric of his trousers. “It hardly matters now, Martha is- despite all my efforts I only seem to have succeeded in butchering any relations between Mrs. Bullock and myself. She declared my sacrifice _poisonous.”_ He spat the word, finally reaching the state of intoxication where the drink only fed into his anger. “But I append that declaration. How much of a wicked act can one enact if the hand that carries out the deed is not itself poisonous?”

“You are not poisonous, Seth,” Sol said patiently. He placed a hand on Seth’s clenched fist and carefully pried his fingers from their tight grip.

Seth dried his eyes against his sleeve. “I am.”

“You’re not. You are drunk, friend.” He pat Seth on the arm and stood, offering him his hand. He tugged him to his feet and steadied him. “It is late and if you don't mind my saying so-”

“Likely will mind-”

“If you don’t mind my saying so,” he continued on, “you’ve looked very tired as of late. You should get some damn sleep.”

Seth slumped against his partner. “No, no, don’t- don’t want to… don’t need…”

“It’s time for bed, Seth.” Sol took his friend’s weight upon his shoulder and guided him up the stairs with more patience than he was rightly deserving of. He took him to his old cot in the upstairs storage space, tucked away in a clear space among the boxes. Depositing him onto the mattress, Seth did little to stop his own face planting, lacking all grace and coordination. 

With his face smothered against the pillow, his voice was hardly audible. It smothered the tremor. “I want her to desire me,” he confessed, so terribly soft that it could almost be carried away by the draft that swam through the upper level of their shop. 

Sol’s retreat came up short. Uncertain as to whom his friend referred, he asked, “Mrs. Bullock?”

Seth’s lips thinned and he turned his face further into his blankets. He looked, to Sol, so unbelievably heartbroken. 

“Do _you_ desire _her?”_ he asked.

The answer was not forthcoming. “I desire…” It was so childish he could hardly stand his own company - this infantile _yearning_ for some unidentifiable abstract concept of joy. It was foolish. He shut his eyes against the humiliation.

“You cannot strong arm yourself into desire,” Sol said. “Howbeit, you must end this - this making yourself ill with self-reproach for desiring _happiness,_ if that is your meaning. You are an honorable fucking fool of a man and your own principles are going to cause you to devour yourself till you are nothing but a miserable, angry sonofabitch.”

Wordlessly, Seth rolled over on his cot, facing his back to Sol. His mind conjured the image of a snake swallowing its own tail.

He heard Sol sigh heavily. “Goodnight, Seth. Don’t be a bastard in the morning when your head’s hurting you.”

Seth listened to his friend’s heavy footfalls down the steps as he retreated back to his own room, shutting his door with a clatter. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the Townes Van Zandt song


End file.
